


I'll Break the Back of Love for You

by rbcch



Series: I Will Be the One to Make You Crawl [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Hurt, I am so sorry, M/M, Out of Drag, a lot of unresolved drama, also Trixya is barely there, post drag race, they just literally fuck each other up in the worst way possible, they're both masters at that, this is not a happy story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-21 19:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11951262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rbcch/pseuds/rbcch
Summary: Violet had too many stars in his eyes and he turned Pearl’s skyline upside down.Or, Violet sleeps around and Pearl drinks it all away.





	I'll Break the Back of Love for You

**Author's Note:**

> Helllo lovelies!
> 
> First of all, a little trigger warning. This fic deals with themes such as mutual mental abuse, cheating, and alcohol abuse/ alcoholism. If you feel like that's not your cuppa soup, tea, or any other hot liquid, please do not continue reading past this point,it's not worth it.
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by Placebo's album Meds, especially track 'Post Blue' where the title is from.
> 
> If you came for Trixya, I'll have to disappoint you, it's literally only implied and you can imagine it to be present or absent according to your preferences.
> 
> I promise the next one I will post will be happier than this.

It’s a Friday night and Pearl has just finished smoking his second joint, when he hears rattling behind his front door. Too baked to feel alarmed, he groans at the inconvenience of having to actually get up from the comfortable nest he’s constructed for himself on the sofa and walk those ten or so feet that separate him from his door. He makes it there at the same time as it opens and Violet walks in.

Pearl just freezes and stares at Violet.

He honestly doesn’t know why seeing Violet standing in his apartment with an overnight bag in his hand and a smile that reaches his eyes on his face is so surprising. It’s not like anyone else has a key to his place, or like he’s never seen Violet come through that door ever before. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s high as a fucking kite, or maybe the fact that he hasn’t seen Violet for exactly six weeks and three days, or maybe the fact that he wasn’t hoping to see him anytime soon, either. Whatever the reason, he just stands there and stares at Violet, not knowing what to say.

“Hi, baby,” Violet says finally and that snaps Pearl out of it. “Miss me?”

“I didn’t know you were coming over,” he says crossing his arms on his chest.

Violet throws his bag on the floor and places a peck on Pearl’s cheek before brushing past him into the apartment.

“Three shows in New York,” he shrugs and walks over to the fridge, helping himself to a bottle of water. “I can’t stay in the tour bus for another fucking night, I swear.”

Pearl just follows Violet with his eyes. It’s almost absurd how he moves around, like he still belongs here, like it’s as much his place as it is Pearl’s, like he’s never left in the first place. It’s also absurd how well he fits here, like there’s a hollow space not only in Pearl’s apartment but in his life as well, one that’s the size of Violet, made for him and him only to fill.

“I’m gonna grab a shower, yeah?” Violet says then, stripping out of his shirt.

“Yeah,” Pearl says lowering his gaze. “Your towel-“

“I know,” Violet says and brushes past him again, heading to the bathroom.

As soon as the door is shut behind him and the water is running, Pearl heads into the kitchen, opens the cupboard where he keeps all his pans, and gets a bottle of white that’s hidden behind everything. He pours himself a glass and downs it in one go, refilling the glass immediately after that.

Instantly he feels it dull the ache inside of him that he hates but that has become so crucially a part of him that he’s not sure he’d know how to live without anymore. He’s been holding onto it so tightly for the past months that it’s turned into sort of a fixed point for him, something he’s afraid to lose because it’s the only thing that helps him define himself, define everything else in his life, too.

He pours himself a third glass when he’s finished with the second and goes to get extra pillows and blankets from his closet, fixes Violet a space to sleep on the sofa and rolls himself another joint. He’s halfway through it when Violet joins him on the balcony, curls still damp from his shower and wearing nothing but Pearl’s pyjama bottoms that he must have dug up from one of the drawers in Pearl’s bedroom.

They stare at New York in silence, and the city is lively and bursting with energy below them and Pearl has never felt less a part of it. He relaxes more and more with every inhale he takes and the air is cool on his skin and his pain is just a dull ghost of what it is at its worst.

“Are you drinking again?” Violet asks quietly.

“I never stopped,” Pearl answers when he’s done holding the smoke inside his lungs and counting to twenty.

“What’s that?” Violet demands.

“Your question implies that I quit drinking at some point,” Pearl says, stubbing out his joint. “In order to be drinking ‘again’, I would have had to stop at some point. I never did.”

Violet scoffs at that but doesn’t press it, doesn’t try to stop Pearl when he pushes past Violet back into the apartment.

“I’m off to bed now,” he says as he goes, grabbing his wine from the table where he left it earlier.

He finishes his drink behind the closed door of his bedroom and abandons the empty glass somewhere, climbs into bed and just lays there, staring at the ceiling in the dark, trying to pull himself together, get a grip, and not give in to the emotions raging inside of him.

He lays like that for at least half an hour, concentrating on inhaling and exhaling, until the door opens slightly and Violet peeks in.

“Pearly?” he says softly, “You’re not asleep, are you?”

“Do you need another pillow? There must be-“

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s perfect,” Violet interrupts him. “I just don’t wanna sleep alone.”

Pearl sighs, knows there’s no point in fighting it, doesn’t even have energy to do so, so he just scoots over making room for Violet and pats the sheets beside him in an invitation.

“Still letting me sleep on the left?” Violet teases as he climbs into bed.

“You know what they say about old habits,” Pearl says and shares his blanket.

He goes back to staring at the ceiling and hears, feels Violet shift next to him, turn on his side, and stare at him. Neither of them says anything, and maybe there’s no need to, maybe they’ve said it all already, maybe there’s nothing either of them could say to change this, to right all that has gone wrong between them. Maybe they both know that it’s all too little, too late, maybe they know that they’re trying to catch something that keeps sliding through their fingers, leaving them both empty-handed and heartbroken.

Violet brings his fingers to Pearl’s chest and traces some shapes that make no sense on his bare skin, and it sends shivers down Pearl’s spine, makes his body react in the ways he doesn’t want it to, but that he can’t help because it’s Violet, it’s always been Violet, and it’s sick and twisted and maybe even wrong, although it feels so right. Violet just keeps sliding his fingers on Pearl’s body, lower and lower, until he’s playing with the waistband of Pearl’s underwear.

“Violet,” Pearl groans, not sure if he’s asking Violet to stop or asking him for more. Not that knowing would make any difference, because there’s no possible way he’d stop Violet, tell him no, deny either of them this bittersweet moment, this fucked up little thing that makes them both feel more alive than they’ve felt in ages.

Violet climbs on top of him, pinning Pearl between himself and the sheets, touches Pearl everywhere and tries to press a kiss on Pearl’s lips, but Pearl turns his head, dodges it.

“Not on the lips,” he hisses. “You know that’s the rule. That’s the only rule.”

And Violet complies, doesn’t say anything, as if he knew Pearl would forbid him but had to try regardless. He just presses his lips and hands on the parts of Pearl’s body that he’s allowed to, and Pearl closes his eyes, just surrenders, ignores the guilt and shame he’s feeling and concentrates on the familiarity of Violet’s body on his instead, on the physical side of this because the emotional is too much for him to handle.

He lets Violet do whatever Violet wants to do, lets the other boy take off his boxers and lifts his hips to make it easier for him, lets Violet push him back onto bed and grab a bottle of lube from the box under his bed where he’s always kept it, lets Violet push his legs open and slide his long slender fingers inside of him.

Violet’s adamant and rough and doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s confident in what he’s doing, well aware of the way Pearl likes it. It’s like he knows Pearl’s body better than he knows his own, like he’s studied every single aspect of Pearl and memorised all there’s ever been to memorise. He knows exactly how to move his fingers to make Pearl moan and he is unbashful about it.

“Fuck, Violet, please,” Pearl grunts impatiently, “Get on with it already.”

Fingers still inside of Pearl, Violet leans over and reaches for the box again.

“Why would we suddenly need a condom,” Pearl whines, simultaneously trying to push his ass further down Violet’s fingers.

“It’s been a busy month,” Violet says into the box. “Haven’t been tested yet. Don’t wanna risk it.”

Pearl doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just watches Violet come back to him with a condom between his teeth, tries to tune out how much Violet’s words sting, how his heart feels as if it stops for a split second, how he loathes those faceless and nameless strangers and the idea of them touching Violet, making him moan and arch his back, teasing him until he’s out of breath and pleading for relief.

In a meantime Violet rolls the condom on and replaces his fingers with the tip of his dick. It hurts when he pushes into Pearl and Pearl is grateful for that, clings to that pain, tries to trick his own mind into thinking that that’s the only thing that hurts right now, the only thing that can hurt him at all.

Violet is far from gentle, pushing all the way inside and not waiting for Pearl to get used to the sensation before he starts thrusting, and each time he does, it hurts less and Pearl enjoys it more. He relaxes into it, feels like he could melt into Violet, like he isn’t completely sure anymore where he ends and Violet begins, and Violet entwines their fingers together and Pearl lets him, doesn’t resist, just holds Violet’s hand and allows himself to forget how incredibly screwed up they are for a moment.

Violet’s other hand is on Pearl’s dick, doing phenomenal things, making Pearl come undone with every slide of the palm and flick of the wrist and Pearl brings his own hand to his mouth, uses it to muffle his moans, to stop himself from saying things he so desperately wants to say but can’t afford to.

Violet is the first to come, and Pearl sees it in him more than he even feels it, recognises it in the slight change of Violet’s expression, in the way his eyes widen and his lips part, like he’s a bit out of it and can’t really comprehend himself what’s happening. Violet takes no time to recover from his orgasm, jerks Pearl off instead and holds him when he comes with a whimper and a string of words that shouldn't make sense but tell them both more than Pearl has consciously let out in months.

Pearl turns his back to Violet as soon as Violet pulls out of him, pays no mind to whatever it is Violet’s doing, just stares at the wall and focuses on keeping his breathing deep and calm, because he knows that if he didn’t, he’d feel sick within seconds.

Eventually Violet gets back into bed, wraps his arm around Pearl’s naked body and presses his lips against Pearl’s shoulder and Pearl just tries not to tense under Violet’s touch, tries not to show how he’s forgotten what it feels like to sleep next to someone, skin on skin, how it feels to drift to sleep while being held by someone instead of just being drunk and cold and alone and lonely.

“I love you,” Violet whispers into Pearl’s shoulder.

Pearl doesn’t answer, pretends not to hear, pretends that he’s already asleep and he doesn’t know if it’s more for Violet’s sake or his own, doesn’t know if he wants to hear those words, if Violet wants him to hear, if Violet wants, needs to hear them back, or maybe if Violet’s terrified of hearing them. Doesn’t know if he could say them back, if he’ll ever be able to again. Doesn’t know what they mean now, what they meant back then, if they ever meant the same thing for both of them, if they ever used them as they’re supposed to be used, like other people use them, if they ever meant anything at all.

And soon enough, Violet’s lips leave his body and he lays himself down next to Pearl, not quite touching him but still too close for it to be considered two friends just sharing a bed.

Pearl can tell that Violet’s asleep almost immediately. It takes him hours and hours before he finally falls into uneasy sleep himself.

*

When Pearl gets up in the morning, Violet is a sleepy and adorable bundle of curls and long limbs next to him. He looks so much younger when he's asleep, his features so much softer and gentler when there’s no frown or a hint of conceit in his expression. Pearl has to fight a desire to touch him, play with his hair and kiss him awake, press their bodies together until his caressing Violet turns into slow and lazy morning sex that lasts for hours and leaves them both breathless and making promises neither of them is able to even begin to keep.

Instead Pearl takes a shower and makes them coffee, finds himself preparing it the way he hasn’t for six weeks now, the way he prepares it only when Violet’s around because it’s the way that makes Violet quietly smile into his mug and play footsie with Pearl under the table.

Pearl pours himself a cup and reaches for a pasta box in one of his cupboards, gets a bottle of vodka that’s hidden there and spikes his coffee with three or so shots of it,

The thing about Violet and him, Pearl thinks to himself as he sits on the bar stool in his kitchen and sips his vodka coffee, the thing about them is that they were perfect at first. Not fireworks, explosions, and insane jealous passion kind of perfect, but the kind of perfect that was stable and secure and grounding, the kind of perfect that felt permanent and so, so rare.

It had happened quite soon after the drag race, when they had had a chance to get to know each other better and noticed that there was something magnetic about them. The next months were spent having sex in every possible place and situation, and laying on top of each other, naked and radiant with the afterglow, for hours after that, talking about life and the faults in their society, atoms and alien sex, the words that made them feel different and the music that touched them, the quotes they had never quite understood and the interactions that had had an impact on them, up until Fame had walked in on them in one of the many dressing rooms and looked like they had scarred him for at least a lifetime.

It’s not like it wasn’t passionate. It was crazy passionate. It just was not the kind of passion where they would get into intense fights and throw shit at each other and then have lustful make up sex that was so loud it pissed off the neighbours. It was the kind of passion that had made Violet say _I love you_ during the first couple of weeks, and that had made Pearl believe that this was something that could last, that was meant to last.

Violet was his soulmate. Violet was something solid, sure, and certain in Pearl’s unsure and messy life. Violet was something that Pearl had never imagined himself having, not because he didn’t think he deserved it but because he didn't know that love like Violet and his existed, wasn’t aware that it was possible to love someone that much without it hurting or making him feel nauseous, that it was possible for someone to love him back just as much.

Violet had basically moved in. They had a nicer set of china for special occasions, and eight pairs of expensive wine glasses that one was supposed to use for either red or white only - Pearl could never remember which size was which - and wash with one of Violet’s fancy shampoos instead of washing up liquid.

Pearl had bought a ring and shit, told Trixie that he wanted to propose to Violet and spend the rest of their lives raising puppies or whatever the fuck Violet wanted them to do.

And then it had all come crumbling down.

The funny part is that if someone asked him now, Pearl couldn’t for the death of him recall what had happened exactly, what was the point of no return. Maybe it was the constant touring and being away from each other a lot. Maybe they were both tired and under a lot of pressure, always rushing somewhere and trying to grasp the ungraspable. Maybe it was the fact that Pearl returned home from Toronto to find their apartment empty and Violet gone to London far too often. Maybe it was the fact that when they were finally home, they were still living in two separate time zones, hours apart from each other.

The fighting didn’t start then, at least not right away. The fighting Pearl could have handled. The fighting would have meant that there’s something to fight for, something worth their time and energy and tears, something they wanted to salvage. Instead their coexistence was filled with silence and distance. Those little moments that they had always spent whispering about their dreams, fears, and ambitions were now spent desperately searching for something, anything to say and falling short every single time.

It got to a point where Pearl didn't know the person he shared his bed, home, and life with anymore.

And he didn't know which one of them had made the first mistake, in all fairness, didn’t even care at this point. Maybe it was Violet who had cheated first, who had come home ruined by someone else, and that had driven Pearl to drinking that first bottle of wine on his own. Or maybe it was Pearl who had come home drunk one too many times, who had started to hide bottles everywhere in the apartment, and who had a shot of vodka every morning before even brushing his teeth, and that had driven Violet into someone else’s arms. Maybe there was no causality to this to begin with. Maybe they had made their own mistakes and trying to blame each other, or someone else, or the circumstances was just an indicator of how childish, immature, and naive they were.

The perfect life that they had constructed for themselves, this whole falls’ paradise, it was all collapsing like a house of cards and they both knew it, so Violet coped by sleeping around and Pearl tried to drink it all away.

That’s when the fighting started. But it wasn’t a relief, because at this point there was nothing left to fight for, nothing to work through and save. At this point they weren’t fighting for something, they were just fighting with each other and it was brutal.

It had lasted for days, screaming, and shouting, and throwing shit around. Finally Pearl had told Violet that he couldn’t take it anymore. Violet had cried and begged Pearl to forgive him, to give them another chance, to put down the drink and sober up. Pearl had smashed one of the fine wine glasses and shouted at Violet to get out, to get out of his sight, and his apartment, and his life, to get the fuck out and never come back. Violet had packed his bags and slammed the door behind him, and they were done.

Pearl had once said the the drag race was the most amazing thing that has happened to him, the most amazing thing that will happen to him. That was before Violet had walked into his life and made it feel as if nothing in Pearl’s life could make sense without him anymore. Violet was the most amazing thing that had happened to Pearl, and now they were over and done.

Except they weren’t.

Violet was back less than two weeks later. They hadn’t talked a lot, just had a few rounds of angry sex that left Pearl with a broken coffee table, a set of ripped curtains, and an inability to stand, sit, or walk properly for a week.

And then Violet kept coming back, and Pearl kept letting him, didn’t change the locks, kept an extra set of towels in his washroom, one that wasn’t meant for guests, and a six pack of Violet’s favourite sparkling water in his fridge.

And maybe, just maybe, they should have talked, maybe it would have been an adult and healthy thing to do, maybe it would have prevented them from further messing up this already messy and clearly fucked up arrangement, but talking wasn’t the first thing on Pearl’s mind when Violet was on his knees in front of him, or bending him over the bathroom sink and sliding into him, and then it felt as if too much time had passed and they were in too deep and talking wouldn’t have made any difference.

They were addicted, and no matter how many times they tried to quit each other, they kept crawling back for a quick fix, for a new dose, for another round.

So they were stuck in this limbo, not together anymore but not quite broken up either. Violet would come around every time he was in New York, despite the fact that he had his own place there now. Pearl would drink himself oblivious every night and never bring anyone home with him. Violet would still have sex left, right, and centre, and tell Pearl _I love you_ when he thought Pearl wasn’t listening. They never mentioned how much the actions of another hurt them.

Pearl kept the ring in his sock drawer, in some twisted way enjoyed how cliché and normal it felt.

They both were too much in so many ways. Too stuck in the past, trying to artificially keep their perfect little world alive instead of letting it go and moving on. Too in love with the idea of them, with their memories and the ghosts of things that once were. Too weak to try and detach themselves from one another. Too afraid of so many things. Too afraid to leave their loop because they didn’t know what they’d find outside of it. Too afraid of waking up and realising they didn’t need each other anymore. Too afraid of happiness because it always ended up like this, in a heartbreak and a state of only half existing.

Violet had too many stars in his eyes and he turned Pearl’s skyline upside down.

Violet was too egocentric to tell Pearl how to live his life, what kind of decisions to make. Pearl was too proud to tell Violet he didn’t want to share Violet’s radiance with anyone else.

They were both too much. Too in love, too good together. They were burning too bright and hot. They were too adamant about staying true to themselves, about letting one another be themselves, too. They were too unable to change, even for each other, and that’s what was destroying them from inside out.

And maybe that was their biggest problem. Had the force destroying then been external, they could have fought it, changed it. But they themselves were the artists of their own mass destruction, and they weren’t willing to change that.

Pearl’s stroll down the memory lane is interrupted by Violet’s lips on the nape of his neck.

“Morning, baby,” Violet says and reaches for Pearl’s coffee, takes a sip before Pearl can stop him and half scoffs, half groans. “Really, Pearl? It’s not even nine in the morning.”

Pearl just shrugs and takes his cup back from Violet, “It’s always five o’clock somewhere.”

Violet scoffs again and shakes his head slightly, pours himself a cup and rolls his eyes at Pearl when he offers Violet the vodka, sits across from Pearl with his coffee and interlaces their feet under the table gently.

“Will you come and see me tonight?” he asks kicking Pearl’s bare feet with his own. “Your name will be at the door, as always.”

“I can try to make it,” Pearl says avoiding Violet’s eyes. They both know he has no intention of showing up, hasn’t been to a single Violet Chachki show since the break up, yet they do this same thing every damned time, like it’s their little ritual of sorts, something that sums up all that has gone wrong between them, something that reminds them how little they owe each other and how little they expect of each other.

“Pearl,” Violet says then, and something in his tone makes Pearl raise his eyes to meet Violet’s., “I really would love to see you there tonight.”

“I’ll be there,” Pearl says and for a moment, he thinks, they both believe him.

*

Violet is gone to do an interview and get ready for the show by noon.

Pearl is blackout drunk by two in the afternoon.

*

“Pearly? Pearl. Wake up. Please, pearl, just get up.”

Pearl comes to with a groan and covers his eyes with his arm because the light is just too painful to handle right now. His head is killing him and his mouth feels like something spread a handful of sand all over it and then died right there.

Violet’s sat on the sofa next to him, tugging him by his sleeve and whining.

“What,” Pearl whispers.

“Get up, Pearly. You never came to see me tonight. You never come to see me. All I ever wanted was for you to see me,” Violet whines again and there’s something funny about the way he speaks. He’s slurring in the way that Pearl hasn’t heard him slur in like, well, _ever_.

“Are you drunk, Violet?” Pearl asks sitting up.

“See, my trace of thoughts was that if you can replace me with alcohol, maybe I could do the same,” Violet says smiling dreamily at the wall somewhere behind Pearl and raffling Pearl’s hair with his fingers.

Pearl takes a closer look at Violet then and frankly, Violet is a hot mess. He’s intoxicated to the point where he can’t concentrate his gaze on anything. His hair is messy, like someone’s been running their fingers through it and pulling it hard and he smells of alcohol, smoke, sex, and sweat.

“Get up,” Pearl says.

“Uh-uh,” Violet drawls and collapses onto sofa, “I will not do such thing.”

“Did you have sex with someone tonight?” Pearl demands standing up.

“Pearly,” Violet mumbles into the pillow affectionately. “I’m not like you. I can’t replace you by drinking, it seems like.”

“I’m not replacing you, you stupid fuck,” Pearl raises his voice, “I’m trying to fill the void you left.”

“Well,” Violet contemplates, “You left a fucking void by not showing up tonight and there was this nice gentleman who wanted to fuck me, so I let him.”

“You can’t fucking tell me you cheated on me because I didn’t show up, Violet! I’m not your fucking guard dog.”

“But that’s what happened,” Violet shrugs.

“No, Violet!” Pearl yells, “That’s not how relationships fucking work. You can’t betray someone’s trust and tell them it’s their fault!”

Violet sits up on the sofa and glares at Pearl with a pout, challenging Pearl like a toddler challenges a parent after being told off for something they know was wrong. Violet is a very drunk and sexually over active toddler, which, now that Pearl thinks of it, isn’t the best metaphor he’s come up with.

“Get up,” he says again in much calmer manner, his voice indifferent and lacking any emotion, “We gotta get you to the shower.”

Violet obeys, gets up silently and follows Pearl into the bathroom, waits patiently as Pearl adjusts the water and gets everything ready. Pearl helps Violet get undressed and his eyes are drawn to the bruises, marks, and bites on Violet’s skin that he knows he didn't leave and it feels bad, it feels just genuinely bad and unfair, and it hurts, and Pearl hates it, hates this situation, hates to be a part of it, hates that he can’t seem to walk away, hates that he still, after all this time and hurt and everything that they’ve done to each other, only wants Violet, still wants Violet to want only him.

He pushes Violet into the shower and Violet peeks out. They stand face to face, staring each other in the eye and Violet brings his thumb to Pearl’s lower lip, parts Pearl’s lips a bit and plays with them. Pearl considers giving in, screwing the stupid rules he’s made up himself, and leaning in, pressing their lips together for the first time in ages, just letting go, swallowing his pride and allowing himself feel everything that he so desperately wants to feel again.

“I really do love you, Pearl,” Violet whispers, barely audible.

“I want you out of here before I wake up tomorrow morning,” Pearl answers and turns around, walks away and closes the door behind himself.

He locks himself in his bedroom with a bottle, drinks until he feels sick and throws up into the trash can and passes out.

Violet’s gone when he finally gets up the next day.

*

The days right after Violet has left are always the hardest. Pearl just stays consistently drunk, thinks there’s no point in sobering up at any moment because he’s gonna end up getting drunk again anyway. He leaves his house for the sole purpose of restocking his alcohol and weed supplies and loses any track of date or time.

 _This is a bender_ , he thinks to himself while examining his living room through one of Violet’s wine glasses filled with vodka. He’s pretty sure that regardless the size, the glasses weren’t made to be used for spirits, but there’s something melodramatic about drinking out of them, so he keeps doing it. _He’s 26 and on a full on, blown-out-of-the-proportions bender because his ex boyfriend had sex with someone else_.

Trixie calls him seven times before he decides it’s an appropriate time to pick up the phone.

“Why, hello, Tracy,” he slurs into the phone.

“Are you day drinking, Pearly?” Trixie sighs.

“There’s always time for a five o’clock cocktail somewhere,” Pearl states.

“Did Violet visit you again?”

“Uh-huh,” Pearl says emptying his half full glass in one go. “We had a real blast.”

“Have you seen my pants, Trix?” someone shouts from the other side of the line.

“Is that Katya? Did you two finally realise something could be done about all that sexual tension?” Pearl giggles.

“Oh, my God, Pearl,” Trixie sighs again and Pearl can practically hear how he rolls his eyes. “Just fucking sober up a little and get ready. We’ll pick you up in two hours.”

*

Trixie ends up having to force Pearl to take a shower while Katya runs downstairs and gets them takeout, but Pearl does feel considerably better when he’s freshly shaved, showered, and has had something to eat and drink that doesn’t consist of mainly alcohol.

“Where are we going?” he asks when he’s shoved into the Uber.

“Max’s tour is in New York. We’re gonna go and see him,” Trixie says climbing into the car after Pearl.

“Why is everyone touring except for me?” Pearl whines.

“Maybe because you don’t really have any entertainment value?” Trixie suggests.

“But you’re beautiful,” Katya adds from the front seat.

“Oh, fuck right off, both of you,”Pearl flips them off.

The first thing Pearl does when they get to the club is order himself three shots of tequila and down them. Trixie rolls his eyes at that and goes to find them a nice table to sit and Katya orders Pearl a large ice water and watches Pearl closely until he’s drank the last drop of it.

“Jesus, I didn’t realise I came here with both of my drag moms,” Pearl says scornfully and orders himself a Long Island Iced Tea just because.

Max’s show is amazing, like Max’s shows always are, and Pearl enjoys it a lot even through his semi buzzed state. He’s always liked Max a lot, always enjoyed his company, the way Max made him feel, like it was okay for Pearl to be who Pearl was, like he didn’t have to try and please anyone, like he was more than people chose to notice, and like Max always saw that in him, always regretted how little they did, in fact, stay in touch.

He’s about five Iced teas and four more shots in when Max joins them at their table, out of drag and the happiest fucking smile on his face. They all exchange hugs and kisses and pleasantries and it’s so easy to feel normal for a moment, almost forget that nothing in his life is normal or particularly good right  
now.

“So I see you’re already proper pissed, Pearly,” Max says as he sits down across from Pearl.

“Why would you think I’m angry?” Pearl says, confused.

“Not pissed off, you stupid skank,” Katya snorts, “Pissed as in drunk off your poorly padded ass.”

“Why can’t you just speak normal English,” Pearl rolls his eyes and orders himself another drink.

They fall into an easy conversation and Trixie and Katya are all over the place, like they always are, so Pearl contributes a biting comment every now and again and lets others do the talking and filling each other in and concentrates on sipping his drinks instead.

He drinks himself into the state of publicly passing out again, which is probably not the smartest thing he’s done, but hey, such is life after love.

“Seriously, Pearl?” Trixie says rubbing his forehead. ”No shade, but is this really how you want to trend on Twitter?”

“All publicity is public,” Pearl garbles.

“You don’t say, princess,” Katya says lifting Pearl and trying to keep him in an upright position. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“I can take him,” Max offers and grabs Pearl’s waist. Pearl just leans on him and enjoys the feeling of firmness and someone holding him.

“You sure?” Katya asks, “I mean we brought this mess of a human person here in the first place.”

“I am a mess of a human person,” Pearl cackles to himself.

“A fucking life-sized mess as well,” Trixie adds.

“It’s not a problem at all,” Max says, “My hotel is in Brooklyn anyway.”

Max leads Pearl out of the club and holds him close while they wait for a car to pick them up stroking soothing circles on Pearl’s back. The cool air of night time New York clears Pearl’s head a little, makes it easier to comprehend what’s going on.

“It’s really nice to have you back,” Pearl mumbles into Max’s chest.

“It’s really nice to be back,” Max says resting his chin on Pearl’s head.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so shit at keeping in touch with you,” Pearl wraps his arms around Max’s waist and hugs him.

“You’ve had your reasons, darling,” Max hums.

“My reason just told me it’s my fault he cheats on me,” Pearl says hollowly.

Max lets out a heavy sigh and presses his lips on Pearl’s head.

Pearl falls asleep during their car ride to his house, so Max insists on walking him upstairs, which Pearl thinks is totally unnecessary until they’re at his door and he almost trips over while trying to get his keys out of the pocket of his skinny jeans. Max has to pin him against the wall and push his hand down Pearl’s pocket in order to get them inside and Pearl finds it very amusing, to say the least.

“Usually when I’m pinned between a hot guy and a wall, the situation is more exciting than this,” he giggles.

“Christ, Pearly, just get inside already,” Max smirks shaking his head.

They get inside and Pearl is grateful that Trixie tried to clean up his mess and at least threw away all the empty bottles that were laying around everywhere. It’s not like Max hasn’t already figured out that Pearl is a mess, but it’s nice to pretend that one part of is life is in some kind of order.

“Fancy a glass of wine?” Pearl drawls out in a way that he would like to think of as seductive but that probably is just awkward as fuck.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, darling,” Max chuckles and guides Pearl into the kitchen.

Max makes him drink a lot of watering helps him get ready for bed and it is so bizarre, so ludicrous, to be taken care of, to feel like someone actually cares for him, cares about what happens to him , to feel like someone doesn’t want him to be left alone when he’s so drunk he can’t remember his own name, to realise that someone could be doing this not because they want his body but because they cherish him as a breathing, feeling human being.

Pearl just can’t let Max go after a realisation like that.

Max tucks him in and sits on the edge of his bed, strokes Pearl’s cheek gently and threads his fingers through Pearl’s hair.

“You know you’re amazing, right?” he whispers smiling kinda unhappily.

Pearl mumbles something that sounds about as convincing as he feels about this matter.

“No, Pearly,” Max lets out in despair, “You can’t let anyone else define your worth. You can’t let their actions reflect on your self perception.”

“But I don’t know how to define myself outside of our relationship anymore,” Pearl admits.

“Then you start with tiny things. You start with small stuff that makes you you on your own until you’re your own person again.”

Pearl looks down and nods and Max tugs him close to himself, hugs him, and presses a trace of small tender kisses on Pearl’s temple.

“I reckon I should get going now,” he lets go of Pearl eventually.

“Or you could stay,” Pearl pops himself up on his elbows.

Max looks riddled, like he wants to say yes, wants to stay, but his chivalry just can’t let him.

“We really shouldn’t, Pearly,” he murmurs.

“I’m tired of doing shit just because I should,” Pearl whispers and slides his palm up Max’s thigh slowly, waiting for Max to stop him, giving him every chance to do so, but Max never does.

“This isn’t right,” Max tries again, but he sounds even less convincing.

“It’s not wrong, either,” Pearl states and sits up. His face is just inches away from Max’s and his hand has reached Max’s crotch by now. “Can I kiss you?”

Max closes his eyes and sighs, bites his lower lip and offers Pearl the tiniest nod.

Pearl leans in and presses their lips together, kisses Max tentatively and tenderly and Max kisses him back with the same carefulness and gentleness and it’s been months since Pearl’s been kissed like that, since _kissing_ has meant something else than borderline violent smashing of teeth against skin and panicked turning of head every time Violet’s lips ventured too close to his.

Max deepens their kiss and pushes Pearl back onto bed, crawls on top of him and sits astride his hips. Pearl wraps his arms around Max’s neck and pulls him closer, just really enjoys making out, remembers again how much fun it can be.

Max rolls them around so that Pearl’s on top between his legs and Pearl lets out a little surprised laugh at that. Their kissing turns more heated and passionate quickly and Pearl unbuttons Max’s shirt while Max’s hands explore Pearl’s body.

It’s a little bit weird, being with somebody new after almost three years of learning every inch and dimension of somebody, of knowing exactly what to do to bring them pleasure, of becoming aware of someone on every single level, of having them installed in one’s muscle memory, consciousness, and spiritual reality. There’s a lot of awkward angles, bumping into each other, getting stuck, and readjusting their positions, but Max is cool about it, just laughs it off and that makes Pearl feel like less of a clumsy failure.

And Pearl tries to throw himself into it, but there’s something off, something that doesn’t make sense. Max is a tad too tall, his touch is a tad too soft and careful, his body a little bit too unfamiliar under Pearl’s fingers and Pearl doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do this with anyone else ever again, how he’s supposed to want anyone the way he had wanted violet, the way Violet had wanted him.

But he doesn’t stop Max, on the contrary, encourages him with little whimpers and moans, and he’s not sure if he’s wronging himself, Max, or Violet the most here, but he’s too exhausted to care, too worn out to try and do the right thing.

They lose their clothes and Max flips them around again, fits himself between Pearl’s legs and litters little kisses everywhere on Pearl’s body, and Pearl’s body answers, relaxes under Max’s caring touch and starts to enjoy it.

“Where’s your stuff?” Max asks him between kisses.

“Uh,” Pearl says, caught off guard, not used to having to tell where he keeps his things. “The box. There’s a box under the bed.”

Max looks under the bed, takes a little bit too long, so Pearl leans over and reaches for the box.

“Not that one,” he pleads when Max grabs a lube. That’s Violet’s favourite, he thinks but doesn’t say it aloud. “Any other will do.”

They climb back onto bed and Max presses Pearl against pillows, cups his cheeks and kisses him on the lips again.

“We don’t have to do this, Pearly,” he whispers.

“I want to,” Pearl says with determination, not sure if he’s trying to persuade himself or Max more. “Please Max, don’t treat me like I’m broken.”

And they both know that he is, that he’s been for a while now, that maybe his brokenness is beyond any possibility of repair at this point, that he’s fucked up and the next person who’ll try to fix him will probably end up hurt and unsuccessful, but tonight he wants to pretend that he isn’t, that every breath that he takes doesn't hurt him like crazy, that he’s capable of reciprocating normal human emotions and feelings in a healthy manner, and Max is willing to give that to him, willing to pretend with him, and Pearl is grateful for that.

So Max starts to open him up, and he’s not the sort of overconfident and cocky that Pearl’s used to, uses too much lube for Pearl’s liking and clearly doesn’t know how to twist his fingers in that certain way that makes Pearl arch his back and jerk his hips up, but he’s quick at figuring Pearl out, at reading Pearl’s body language and little changes in his demeanour and adjusting his movements accordingly, and he’s, without a doubt, very good at what he’s doing, so he’s got Pearl begging for more and pleading for mercy in no time.

Max is so incredibly delicate when he finally pushes into Pearl, keeps his thrusts shallow and his movements soft and patient, and Pearl doesn’t know what to think, is shocked that sex can actually be something else than a rough and aggressive act of desperation, doesn’t know what to cling to, because the physical and emotional pain have been his anchor for so long now.

Max lifts Pearl’s leg and throws it over his shoulder and that gives them an amazing angle and Pearl actually loves it a lot, feels guilty for enjoying Max’s length and deepening thrusts and wandering hand on his body this much, isn’t sure id he’s entitled to enjoy this at all. Max wraps his hand around Pearl’s hard dick and he moves his wrist in rhythm with his pushing and pulling and Pearl closes his eyes, lets his body respond in the ways it has learned to respond, without thinking about it or concentrating on it.

It’s not long until Max’s moves become messy, fast, and hurried and Pearl is jerking his hips up to meet Max’s fist and thrusts and it’s absurd how in sync they are, how well their bodies work together, how easy and light and painless it can be to be with someone you don’t know in that way, and for the first time ever Pearl thinks he might understand why Violet can’t seem to stop doing this.

And there’s a huge possibility he whispers Violet’s name when he comes, but he isn’t completely sure and Max doesn’t clock him on that, doesn’t say anything about it at all.

*

If it was bad before, it only gets worse after this.

Pearl gets himself into the state of intoxication where he can’t tell day from night, ceiling from floor, or reality from this half-dreaming, half-hallucinating thing that his brain does, and he stays in that state.

It’s bad. He knows it’s bad but it’s the only way he knows how to deal with this, the only outlet for everything that he has been bottling up inside of him for years, the only way for him not to lose it completely, although some might argue it’s too late for that.

He’s hit the dead end. This is all there is for him. He doesn’t know what to do, how to keep going, doesn’t know if he even wants to. It’s like he’s suffocating. Like he’s drowning, and everyone else around him is breathing normally.

He’s heard somewhere that when a person’s underwater, the moments before they give in and breathe in the water are the most painful, like a slowly burning agony, and once the water gets in, it’s actually a nice, soothing feeling, and nothing hurts anymore, nothing will hurt ever again.

He wants to give up, let the water in, but he doesn’t know how to.

*

He’s awoken by a hard slap on his cheek.

“Wake up or I’m calling an ambulance,” someone says somewhere above his head.

There’s another slap across his face.

“Oh, my fuck,” Pearl groans, “Jesus, I’m awake, stop abusing me.”

He opens his eyes slightly, and there’s a lot of light that looks natural, so he thinks it’s a daytime and he’s on the couch in his living room area. There’s two unclear figures above him, and he has to bat his eyes vigorously a few times before he can concentrate his gaze and recognise Katya and Trixie.

“I was kinda hoping for Violet inspired hallucinations today, but I guess you two will have to do,” he says smiling at them dreamily.

Katya bursts into laughter and Trixie looks at both of them with an unimpressed expression on his face, like he’s not quite sure which one of them is a bigger disappointment.

“Just let the bitch sleep for another thirty minutes, he’ll realise we’re more real than he’d care to have,” Katya says.

Pearl just closes his eyes and tries to replace Trix and Kat with visions of Violet.

He’s awoken again a bit later and this time it’s a way more gentle awakening as there’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him until he’s conscious again.

“I’ll need you to sit up and drink this,” Katya says.

Pearl tries to sit up, doesn’t manage without help from Trixie and then he’s handed a glass of something that looks suspicious.

“What is this,” he says, his voice cracking.

“It’s better if you don’t know. Just drink it, helped me a lot in my day,” Katya chuckles.

He takes a sip, gags immediately at the awful taste and consistency, but Katya just urges him to keep going.

“What are you doing here?” Pearl asks finally, putting the half empty glass on his coffee table.

“We have, like, five gigs in New York,” Trixie says.

“Not in New York, you pair of dumb whores,” Pearl rolls his eyes. “Inside of my apartment.”

“Oh,” Katya says, “Picking locks is something I do when Trixie leaves for too long and I get too frustrated sexually.”

Pearl groans at them and hides under the blanket.

“In all seriousness, this is a life-sized interposition intervention,” Katya says.

“I don’t need one,” Pearl says from under his blanket. He’s fucking aware he needs one.

“We’re worried that your relationship with Violet has passed all the limits of healthy,” Trixie sighs.

“This is rich coming from people who not only pretend to be single but who also pretend not to date each other,” Pearl says, still into his blanket.

“What we do is called a job, I believe,” Trixie explains like one would explain something to a three-year-old.

“And what you two do is a self destructive fucking bullshit,” Katya adds.

“Fuck right off,” Pearl whines because he’s out of any valid arguments.

He pouts under the blanket some more, but it gets kinda tired and ridiculous, so he emerges from underneath it eventually. Katya is sat in his armchair, legs popped on Pearl’s coffee table and Trixie is collecting the bottles into a large trash bag, again.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Pearl says motioning to Katya’s legs.

“Why’s that?”

“I once fucked Violet on top of that and one of the legs broke, so I hot clued it together. Now it breaks every time there’s more than two wine glasses on top of it at the same time.”

Katya laughs again and Trixie just sighs, like he can’t believe the level of maturity of his current company.

“So,” Pearl says, “Does Max hate me?”

“He doesn’t hate you. He mainly hates himself because he thinks he took advantage of your weakened emotional and physical state,” Trixie hums.

“But that’s not what happened!” Pearl says in shock. “I basically threw myself at him. Oh. my God, this is awful. I feel so bad.”

“Do you not think this was a cry for help?” Trixie says piling the remaining bottles into the bag and sitting on the armrest of Katya’s chair.

“I don’t fucking know. I don’t know anything anymore,” Pearl moans burying his face in his knees.

“Listen, Pearly. We don’t know what kind of arrangement you two have, what’s your deal, but it sounds like Violet got the better end of the bargain here.” Katya says carefully.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like Violet. You're biased,” Pearl whines.

“I don’t actually mind the bitch,” Katya says simultaneously as Trixie says, “Well, actually…”

“It’s not ideal, okay?” Pearl struggles for words. “But what thing is, right? We can still make it work. It’s not like we won’t figure this out.”

Trixie and Katya jus stare at him and he reads so much in their expressions, disbelief, and pity, and sadness, and heartache.

“No,” he says, “No, listen, it’s gonna be alright. It’s gonna be perfect again. We’re just fighting, but what couple doesn’t have a fight every now and then. Fighting doesn’t mean an end.”

Katya avoids his eyes and Trixie just offers him the tiniest head shake.

“But I love him,” Pearl cries.

“I know, baby,” Trixie whispers.

“Sometimes it’s just not enough,” Katya frowns.

“It is enough for us!” Pearl shouts, doesn’t understand what they’re trying to tell him, what kind of point they’re trying to make.

“If it was enough, you wouldn’t be drinking yourself to death,” Trixie says, “We wouldn’t be here picking your front door lock terrified of what we might find inside, and Violet wouldn’t run away every time life doesn't go according to his perfect little plan.”

Pearl glares at both of them, doesn’t know how to answer, knows they’re probably right, but doesn’t want their words to be true, doesn’t want to admit any of this.

“There’s different kinds of love,” Katya says and Pearl has never seen him this serious. “If we’re really lucky, we sometimes find the right one, sometimes even get to keep it. But oftentimes it’s a sick, wrong kind of love. It’s a destructive love, dependent love, a love that sucks everything out of both of you and leaves you unhappy and broken.”

Pearl shakes his head almost hysterically, “That’s not Violet and I.”

“Then tell me one thing,” Katya says. “Tell me the last time you were happy to be in love with Violet.”

Pearl opens his mouth to respond and just closes it again, because he realises he doesn’t know the answer to that, doesn’t remember when was the last time he was happy to have Violet in his life, the last time he was relieved to see Violet and thrilled to have a conversation with him, the last time the spaces between them weren’t filled with hurt, disappointment, and anger.

“You need to be a bigger person and set both of you free,” Trixie says. “You need to let it go. Get your spare key back from Violet so he can’t come and go as he pleases. Get rid of that ring I know you still keep somewhere in here.”

“I don’t know how to,” Pearl whispers, “I don’t know how to exist without him.”

“But you already do,” Trixie claims.

Pearl buries his face in his knees again and sobs, hides his tears from them, but they’re right there to catch him, cuddle him, and hold him through his moment of weakness and he loves them for that.

*

It doesn’t magically get better overnight. This is not a fairytale and Pearl is not a hero. Maybe he is a villain. Maybe neither of them are. This is real life and maybe both of them are just humans, doomed to make human mistakes and poor choices.

He tries to clean up his act, get a grip. He relapses multiple times, calls Katya every time, drunk and defeated, and he tells Pearl to just start over the next morning, so he does. He starts over and over and over again, falls flat on his face, hates himself for it and gets back up again, and when getting up gets too hard, he continues crawling on his hands and knees.

He cleans his apartment. Washes the fine wine glasses with Violet’s shampoo and throws the rest of it away. Throws a bunch of other shit away, too. All of Violet’s sparkling water, Violet’s favourite lubes, his red liquid lipstick that he left on one of Pearl’s washroom shelves, the stupid miniature Eiffel Tower that Violet once brought him from Paris and that’s been sitting on his bookshelf ever since.

“Why would I need anything this touristy?” Pearl had chuckled.

“Because, my dear, that right there is a real tchotchke,” Violet had said like it had been the most obvious thing ever. “Now you can always look at it and remember me, remember that one day I’ll take you to Paris and kiss you on the top of Eiffel Tower until your head spins.”

Pearl drags his coffee table outside, gets rid of it, too. He tells himself that he should feel different after this. He doesn’t, but he should.

He digs up the ring, sits on his sofa and stares at the turquoise Tiffany box until it feels as if it stares back at him, condemning and disapproving.

“I’m sorry,” he tells the box. “I wish it would have worked out differently, too.”

The box doesn’t answer, which is probably a good sign. At least he’s not hallucinating anymore.

He can’t get rid of the box, of the ring inside of it, so he just brings it with him everywhere he goes, holds onto it, makes it his new fixed point, his anchor, the centre of his inner universe, orbits it like he’s a moon and needs another planet’s gravity to stay afloat.

He’s not sober, nor is he well or happy. He’s not even fine. He’s still everything he used to be, still in love with Violet, still hooked and in need of his dose, still only half a person on his own. He’s not really living, just existing, but maybe that’s enough for now.

*

Violet is sat in his kitchen, arms crossed on his chest and tensed when Pearl gets back home one day.

“What is this?” he says instead of greeting Pearl, pointing at the Tiffany box on the table next to him.

“Did you go through my stuff?” Pearl says, mildly annoyed.

“Well it didn’t really require me going through anything since this was just laying on your kitchen counter like any other piece of cutlery,” Violet scoffs.

Pearl shrugs and throws his grocery bag on the counter next to the sink.

“What is that?” Violet demands again.

“Oh, my God, Violet,” Pearl groans. “It’s a fucking engagement ring. Use your fucking eyes.”

“I can fucking see it’s an engagement ring, Pearl,” Violet scoffs again. “Is it _your_ engagement ring? Is this the ring that was meant to be mine one day?”

Pearl just glares at Violet.

“Were you going to propose, Pearl?” Violet pushes.

“It doesn’t matter,” Pearl mumbles.

“When was this? Why didn’t I know about this? What changed?” Violet keeps pressing.

“It does not matter, Violet,” Pearl repeats.

“Of course it matters!” Violet says with more heat to his voice and stands up. “Were you going to ask me to marry you?”

“I slept with Max,” Pearl cries out and Violet freezes, just stares at him and opens and closes his mouth a couple of times.

“It’s okay,” he whispers finally. “It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. It didn’t mean anything, did it?”

“No, I don’t think it did,” Pearl says looking anywhere but at Violet.

And then Violet does that thing where he reads Pearl better than anyone else has ever been able to, like Pearl is an open fashion magazine and Violet just flips through him and knows, just knows without asking.

“Did you want it to mean something?” he murmurs in a hushed tone.

“Yes, Violet,” Pearl howls. “Yes, I wanted it to mean something. I wanted it to mean everything. I wanted to not feel guilty when he kissed me, wanted to enjoy kissing him back.”

Violet covers his face with his hands.

“I wanted to be his when he took me apart. I wanted it to mean something when he made me moan and plead for more, when he fucked me and made me come.”

“Stop,” Violet begs with tears in his eyes and voice. “Stop, Pearl, you’re making me sick!”

“Indeed, Violet,” Pearl yells, throwing his hands in the air. “I am making you sick, and you’re doing the same to me. This is not healthy. We’re not healthy!”

“Don’t say that!” Violet shouts back. “I love you, Pearl, I love you and we’re so good together.”

“No, Violet, we are not. We’re toxic, this is a toxic relationship and we’re gonna end up destroying each other!”

Violet sinks back into the chair and buries his face in his hands again and Pearl just wraps his arms around himself and stares at the floor.

“So what does this mean?” Violet says after a long silence.

“I think we should walk away,” Pearl whispers into his collar.

“So you’re really telling me that you’re ready and willing to throw away everything that is good about us?” Violet challenges.

“Fairly, Violet, I think we’ve already done a splendid job at that,” Pearl chuckles unhappily.

Violet sobs and Pearl looks at him and Violet’s been crying quietly, tears streaking his face and Pearl loathes the sight, has always hated seeing Violet cry, has always been afraid to be the reason behind Violet’s tears.

“I can change, Pearl,” Violet pleads. “We can change this. We’ll both get help. We don’t have to give up on us, give up on happiness, Pearl. I’ll do whatever you want me to. Please, Pearl, just let me make it better.”

“I don’t want that, Violet” Pearl says, on the verge of tears himself. “I want out. Please give me an out.”

“So you want me to get up, walk out of that door, and never come back?”

“Yes,” Pearl sobs. “Yes, Violet, I am so sorry but I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

Violet stands up again and walks closer, stops a few feet away from Pearl.

“I love you so much,” he says and his voice is so full of despair, hurt. and finality.

“I love you, too,” Pearl says.

“Can I kiss you before I go?”

Pearl shakes his head, “I need to quit you cold turkey.”

Violet nods at that, brushes past Pearl, their arms touching for the briefest of moments and Pearl closes his eyes, tries to fight the tears but they just keep falling from underneath his closed lids.

“Do you wanna know what I would have said?” Violet asks stopping behind Pearl.

“What?” Perl sobs but doesn’t turn to face Violet.

“Had you proposed, do you want to know my answer?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it,” Pearl sniffles.

“I would have said yes,” Violet says and walks away.

*

Pearl’s world ends at that.

Everything that he knew about his life, about himself, about people around him, everything he used to define himself and the world, everything familiar and safe and solid doesn't make any sense anymore, and he’s lost in the hell created by Violet’s words and his own dreams.

He lays on his bed and cries for days, too depressed to even get up and get drunk. When he’s done crying, he just continues laying there, indifferent and slack. Then comes regret, and with regret comes anger. He can’t believe he told Violet to get out, can’t believe he voluntarily let the love of his life go, can’t believe Violet listened to him, didn’t try to fight for them harder, so he trashes his bedroom in a moment of violent rage, cuts his knuckles open when he tries to put his fist through the bathroom mirror, and destroys half of his tableware. Then he tries to bargain, tries to convince himself that this is not final, that they’d fought before and Violet still ended up coming back every time, so this one’s not an exception. Violet will come back, he keeps telling himself, Violet knows how much he’s hurting and he’s gonna come through that door at any given moment.

But there’s no Violet, and gentle spring days turn slowly into tiring summer heat and Pearl can’t seem to restart his world and life.

He has been abandoned before. He has been left by the people he loved and trusted. This is nothing new. This is how it always ends for him, so there’s nothing surprising about this, nothing he shouldn’t have seen coming, nothing he shouldn’t have prepared himself for. He has dealt with abandonment before, so why does it feel so goddamn hard this time around?

And then there’s simply nothing else left for him to do but to keep moving, so he does. He takes it minute by minute, and when that gets too unbearable, he takes it second by second, keeps pushing forward with all that he’s got left, and it’s not much but it’s enough to get him started nonetheless.

And then, slowly, he makes it to an hour by hour, and before he knows it, he’s made it through yet another humid summer day and it’s still not great, but it’s okay, and he’s okay and he’s alive and he’s made it.

He changes the lock on his front door, replaces the broken bathroom mirror, and packs up whatever’s left of his tableware, donates it to charity and buys himself a new set of wine glasses, one that isn’t as fancy and expensive as Violet’s used to be, but that looks nice in his kitchen cabinet.

He goes to the movies alone, sees Dunkirk, walks out in the middle of it because in some fucked up way he’s reminded of Violet’s curls every time he sees Harry Styles on the screen. He buys himself a pink orchid, because he reckons it’s the easiest to take care of. He sits on his balcony in the evening sun that is more merciful than its sister in the daytime and smokes Marlboro Lights or joints, listening to New York below him.

He goes to Tiffany’s once or twice in order to return the ring, but ends up asking about engraving something on the ring instead. The sales assistant tells him it would take two weeks before he got his ring back, so he says he’ll consider it. He doesn’t because he can’t let go of it for that long.

The burning August sun turns into the lower September sun that is easier on the eyes and the humidity of the air is replaced by the brisk mornings that turn into lovely days and chilly nights. Pearl turns 27 and Violet is in New York the weekend before that, but it doesn’t mean a thing anymore and for the first time since turning 24, Pearl wakes up on his birthday without Violet’s blinding smile beside him.

He stares at the walls a lot, not because he’s pouting but because he gets lost in his own thoughts continuously, and it’s not bad or uncomfortable or miserable. He’s just more of what he used to be. Quieter. More reserved, more restrained. More in his own head than out there.

He doesn’t get over Violet. He’s an addict, and he doesn’t believe an addiction can ever be cured completely. He makes a peace with that side of himself, tries to accept that there will always be a part of him that will crave Violet, that he’ll have to live with that little fear of relapse for the rest of his life. Every morning he looks at himself in the mirror and says to himself, _I am Pearl Liaison and i am addicted to Violet Chachki_. Admitting that makes it kinda easier to live with.

And then, one day, he realises that he’s taking deep breaths and inhaling doesn’t hurt him anymore.

*

It’s a Friday night and Pearl has just been out for drinks with Kim and Naomi, who, if you ask Pearl, should just get together and adopt a bunch of cute babies or puppies or both (Kim has definitely stopped asking Pearl a good while ago) (Pearl just really likes puppies, okay?), and he’s climbing up the staircase of his apartment building with a small smile playing on his lips.

He reaches his floor and stops with a halt at the top of the stairs.

It’s Violet.

There’s Violet sitting against the wall next to his door, arms wrapped around his legs and chin resting on his knees.

It’s so preposterous, seeing him for real, in flesh, after months of seeing Violet in his dreams every night and spending every day after that trying to unsee. Violet is just the way Pearl remembers him, maybe a tiny bit more beautiful, and Pearl’s whole body aches with longing, lust, and love, and the feeling almost breaks Pearl right there.

Violet notices him and jumps up, makes a sudden move toward Pearl and then stops abruptly, like he was going for an embrace but decided against it in the middle of his movement, and they just stand there, in Pearl’s hallway, and take each other in.

Pearl tries to count the stars in Violet’s eyes, like he’s done so many times before, but he loses his count, like he always does, doesn’t even begin to grasp the galaxies that exist within Violet.

“You’ve changed your locks,” Violet breaks their silence. He’s always been the one to speak first anyway.

“Turns out the previous one was too easy to pick,” Pearl tries to joke.

“How have you been?” Violet says sheepishly.

“Not too bad. You?” Pearl’s voice doesn’t sound convincing even in his own ears.

“Yeah,” Violet says, “Yeah, it’s been good.”

They stare at each other more, and it’s a bittersweet moment in a way. Like Pearl’s come so far and done so good, but still seeing Violet in front of him is the best thing that has happened to him since he told Violet to get out of his life.

He collects all the bravery he’s got left inside of him and asks, “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Violet says with his typical straightforward bluntness.

“Okay,” Pearl just nods, trying to sound nonchalant, and looks for his keys. “Well, it was nice seeing you.”

He walks to his door and tries to open it smoothly, but his hands shake like crazy and he can’t even seem to connect the lock and the key. Violet leans against the wall again and grabs his wrist.

“Wait, Pearl. Can I come in?” he says quietly.

Pearl raises his eyes from the lock to meet Violet’s.

He is an addict. He is nothing but a slave to his desires and bad habits, just a weak ass human being with close to no self control and a shitty way of never denying himself anything he really wants. That’s why he’s never been able to quit smoking, that’s why he doesn’t eat healthy, that’s why the only exercise he does is pretty much sex. That’s why the idea of letting Violet in is so fucking tempting and arousing. That’s exactly why letting Violet in would be dangerous and reckless and a waste of all the work he’s done during the past months.

And Violet’s just standing there, so familiar, so easy to fall back into old ways of acting with, and Pearl knows he has to make a decision to either yield the temptation, let Violet drag him back into their destructive, sick little ride, or tell Violet that he’s over it, over them fucking each other up in the worst ways possible, over all the pain and shit and fighting.

And still all he seems to be able to think of are the stars in Violet’s eyes.

So he opens his door, walks into his apartment, and leaves it wide open behind himself.


End file.
